


to unexplain the unforgivable

by darkviverna



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-11-06 20:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17946947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkviverna/pseuds/darkviverna
Summary: Ability to see the dead and having a temporal assassin for a brother don’t mix well.





	1. famous living dead

For once in a lifetime, Klaus woke up fresh. No headache, no emptiness in his guts. His vision was steady, furniture stationary and not swimming around in waves in front of his eyes. The blankets were heavy, the bed was comfortable, albeit a bit short for his current height, and Klaus just really wanted to stay there. Yes, he hated this house, and swore to never step in it again many, many years ago, but now… Now that dear old Dad kicked the bucket, Apocalypse was averted and everything settled peacefully between the siblings, Klaus could admit that the house lost its bite. He also liked to have a bed to sleep in, if he would be frank.

“Its 3 p.m., Klaus, go get some food” rang the soft voice of Ben, whose ghostly form sat on Klaus’ desk. Klaus only mumbled something incoherent as an answer, burying himself deeper into the blanket and its warmth. He was about to drift off again, catching up on all the sleep he missed out throughout the years, when a heavy object fell on the bed, hitting Klaus on his chest through the protective shield of the blankets.

He unraveled his cocoon, only to find some old book laying on him and Ben smirking from his place at the table. Smug little shit decided to use his newfound ability to interact with the living in the worst ways possible: by annoying the hell out of Klaus. He could never stay mad long, though - he loved his brother and forgave all his faults.

But Ben won’t forgive him the fault of sleeping in late, so Klaus curses him softly as he untangles his long limbs form the bed, falling to floor in the process. Ben is laughing, and the glint in his eyes tells Klaus that he will never, ever live this down but he won’t let his brother enjoy his fall from grace for much longer. So he stands up, dresses himself half-way decently and walks out of his room, ignoring Ben’s jabs as much as he can. 

He walks down the large staircase, intending to visit the kitchen first, but he wanted to see if anyone else was in the house right now. Most of Hargreeves siblings left the nest again - Allison went to her family, Luther moved out in search of independence. Diego visited sometimes, but he would mostly hang out with Mom (which did not stop Klaus from harassing him at any opportunity). Vanya, well, she didn’t want anything to do with this house, it seems. So it was mostly him, Ben, and Five, who seemed content with living in this house and ignore all negativity that surrounded it.

Klaus felt the heat of the sun even through the painted glass of hallway windows as the rays shone down his pale skin. His steps echoed dully against the stairs as he continued his way down. He was still sleepy, and very, very hungry, which would make sense since slept for 12 hours and did not have a particularly satisfying dinner. But he wanted to annoy Five just a bit before raiding the fridge, so he turned towards the living room, newfound spring in his step. Little old man preferred to stay in the big chair most of the day, jotting down equations in a new notebook each day. Klaus found that strangely adorable.

“How does my favorite little brother is...” he asks as he walks into the room, but the last word dies on his tongue. His legs suddenly feel unsteady and his shoulders tense, and all that sleepy warm gone in an instant.

His brother was sitting in his chair surrounded by dozens and dozens of ghosts. The filled the room almost to the brink, waiting to spill over, their sunken faces all turned to Five.

“Klaus?”

There were so many of them, they packed the room and turned the air around stale, ashy taste landing on Klaus’ tongue as he swallowed down his rising fear. The figures - old and young, of all appearances and time periods possible, - were unmoving, almost like statues, they didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, the dead don’t need to breathe, Klaus-

“Klaus?..”

They all turned to him, suddenly, rotting eyes wide. He expected them to start reaching for him like so many others did, but they didn’t move again, only stared and stared and stared-

“Hello, Klaus?”

“Huh?” Klaus says blinking rapidly (the ghosts won’t go away, they are still here, still watching), his gaze now turned towards five. His little older brother is looking at him something like suspicion, almost concern, in his dark eyes. He is sitting in his chair, as he did in the beginning, but now there was a cup of coffee in his hand instead of a pen, the notebook down in his lap.

Ben was standing next to Klaus, concerned and protective, but Klaus couldn’t focus on him.

“You were going to ask me something, if you can recall?” Five asks again, his impatience creeping in his tone. The suspicion-concern however didn’t leave his face, brows furrowed and eyes gleaming dangerously. Eyes of a killer, Klaus realizes quite belatedly. 

Klaus would love to hang with Five, really, but the ghosts won’t leave, so Klaus will have to.

“I was gonna ask you about your definitely busy day, but since you’re clearly doing important life-or-death work in that little book of yours, I will just… be on my merry way” he says, rushed and impatient to get out, to weary to notice the growing suspicion radiating from Five. 

Klaus’ strides were longer than usual as he hurried to the kitchen to get that oh-so-needed breakfast as soon as possible so he could take a long, long walk afterwards. Just to clear his head.

There was a sudden sound next to him and blue glow illuminated the hallway for a fraction of a second, and now Five was right next to him, keeping up with his fast pace without blink.

“Jesus Christ- what do you want, shorty?” Klaus exclaims, keeping his eyes front even as he saw multiple human-shaped shadows moving along the walls. Five’s eyes squinted as a frown on his face deepened, ready to be replaced with a condescending scowl.

“Make another comment about my height and I will put your head through the wall,” Five threatened lowly as two brothers entered the kitchen space. Klaus immediately headed towards the fridge, opening it hastily, eyes searching for anything halfway edible. 

“Something is up with you” Five states, not even bothering to phrase it as a question. Klaus doesn’t look at him.

“Oh, me? I’m just peachy. Now why don’t you skedaddle and do whatever kids do these days, hm?” Klaus said, irritated, eyes still scanning the fridge, though at this point he just needed and excuse to not look anywhere in vicinity of Five. 

Another ‘pop’ accompanied by a moment of bright blue, and Five was right next to him, his features lighted by the light in the fridge.

“What is wrong with you?” Five growled out, his hands in the pockets of the shorts. Klaus didn’t even look at him.

‘What is wrong with you, huh? I thought you didn’t waste your time on useless things, anyway,” Klaus retorts bitter now. He wanted to just leave, and at this point being rude and mean to Five didn’t bother him as much as the shadows looming behind, countless and countless dead filling the room.

Five seemed to be taken aback for a second since his reply did not come immediately. Maybe, just maybe, he would leave and take all of these dead people - all of his victims, oh god, - and leave Klaus alone.

“You are not useless,” Five finally declares, stoic as ever, and it catches Klaus off guard enough that he can’t stop himself from looking at his brother.

A mistake, really.

There a tall woman behind Five, taller than Klaus himself, clothed into World War II nurse uniform. Blood goes down from her lips all the way to her chin and covering her neck, her blank, grey eyes stare Five down. There are tear streaks on her cheeks mixed with grime and blood. Her bloodied hands twitch, as if she wants to reach out, but won’t.

There is a hole in her chest.

“Klaus?” Five again pulls Klaus attention away, but only for a second. Just as Five called his name, the nurse’s eyes snapped to Klaus. And he couldn’t look away, just couldn’t there was desperation in these eyes, and fuck, Klaus seen something akin to this in the faces of his fellow soldiers in Vietnam, hell, the mirror graced him with the same look on more than one occasion.

He can’t ignore this, so he won’t.

Instead, he speaks.

“What’s your name?” he asks, throat dry. Five looks confused, but doesn’t have a chance to interrupt.

“Lizzy. Lizzy James” said the nurse, her cold-blue lips forming words agonizingly slow, like she forgot how to speak.

“Lizzy James,” he repeats, and then looks down. Confusion on Five’s face was quickly replaced with growing understanding. To his credit, he didn’t go pale or scared. He just looked tired, tired enough to finally look old enough for his age.

“Oh,” is all he says. Klaus just nods. 

The room grows silent. 

And then, Five leaves with a ‘pop’ and a glow.

The ghosts leave with him.


	2. if you could talk to me

Five lands in his room.

His legs are steady as he walks towards his bed, steps deadly silent as he reaches deeper into the room. They don’t echo in the clutter of his dwelling, yet Five feels it would be appropriate, in a poetic sort of way. He was never a poetic man.

The walls are covered from the floor to the edge of ceiling in hasty, cursive writing, graphs on top of equations on top of graphs. He is not a poetic man, but these are his masterpieces - cold and logical, chalk and graphite on smooth stone surface. 

He stands there, at the foot of his bed, hands curled into fists in his pockets. Equations, he was good at equations - calculate the trajectory of the bullet, the force of a blow, the timing of an explosion. It was easy, crunching numbers and dimensions.

It was easy to pull the trigger.

He was a survivor, and survivors don’t have time to build on their morality. But now there is nothing to survive - the apocalypse averted, temps commission indifferent. He is still waiting for them to show up, shoulders tense each time he wakes up from an ash-filled dreams of his old dead world, but they never came for him. Nobody came.

So he was there, aimless. Well, as aimless as a person of his intelligence and passion can be. He did not dare to be idle, to relax. People die idle. And he was a survivor.

He was also a killer.

And that fact is easy to put in a box, seal it and throw away at the back of his mind, away. He didn’t ignore it, but observed it with clinical detachment.

Klaus, however, is not known to be clinically detached. Klaus is anything but, really. He feels so, so much, though his younger brother is not a stranger to ignoring and putting away his feelings, either. But it's hard to ignore something that staring you right in the face.

Literally.

Five thought about it before. He thought about it whenever another lifeless body fell from his bullets. He knew they stayed, or at least some of them. He remembers how Klaus used to stare at corners of the room, eyes following movements of someone invisible to Five’s eyes. He wasn’t sure they followed him, though.

He should have known, in hindsight. Now that Klaus is clean, now that his powers are clear and growing, unmuted by his addictions, Five should’ve known something like this would happen.

Lizzy James. He remembers Lizzy James, Five is known to possess exceptional memory. She was a British nurse, helping the wounded at the battlefield on the front lines in Europe. She was strict, but kind, and didn’t take shit from her soldiers. She was also about to save a soldier who was supposed to die, which would have led to multiple deviations in the timeline, that Temps Commission just couldn’t allow. So they sent their best.

He wished he had Dolores now, to talk to, to vent, for her to say calming nothings and chide his brooding. He doesn't have Dolores now, he left her at her home, where she belongs. He didn’t want to let her go, to let the apocalypse go, but he knew he had to.

He doesn’t have Dolores, but he sure as hell has a shelf stacked with alcohol down in the living room. And alcohol, in five’s books, treated all emotional and physical ailments. 

And he does feel quite sick right now.

So he pulls, as easy as pulling a string apart, and the world bends under his will, the fabric of it tearing, glowing blue. It was easy now, as easy and as breathing, to bend the universe to his will. 

As easy as opening the glass cabinet the moment Five appears in the living room, golden light of the sun bleeding through the windows and stinging his eyes. This, that same poetic side of him chimed, was also inappropriate. 

So Five grabs a bottle, not even paying attention to the label - the honey-amber shine of the liquid only catches his eyes and tells him everything he needs to know. Then he grabs the glass standing at the bar stand and leaves, clawing his way back to his room through the fabric of existence.

He doesn’t land exactly where he planned, appearing in front of his door instead of near his bed. Maybe it's exhaustion creeping up, or his general state of churning unease that deviated his original course. No matter what’s the reason, it inconvenient. Five doesn’t need to open doors, and he won’t. 

He already pulls at the ability again, ready for a short jump, but small lines of light and shadows dancing on the floor below caught his eyes. He turns, facing Klaus’ door down the hall.

Five contemplated the door for a moment.

Then he moved.

Five doesn't knock, doesn’t let his presence known for a moment even though his hand, the one holding the bottle, was already raised near the wooden surface. He thinks better of it, the arm falling to his side again as he turns his back to the door, leaning. He can hear faintest movement in the room, like shuffling of clothes or bed sheets. 

He thinks.

And then he slides down, as graceful as he dares, opening the bottle with experienced fingers and pouring a generous amount into the glass. He takes a sip, and waits.

He doesn’t know what he is waiting for and he hates it.

Five was not equipped for a social interactions. Interrogations, maybe, but he had no idea how conversation or sibling bonding supposed to go. Even before he took his first jump through time, he was not the most sociable person. Less so now.

But he has to it, Five thinks. Because as much as Klaus irritates him, as much his bright clothes hurt older brother’s eyes and his speech is gibberish at best, he is Five’s brother, Five’s family. He buried him once, long ago, and he does not intend for their companionship to die again.

He drinks more of the whiskey, downing half the glass in a go. No putting it off, then.

“Klaus, I…” he starts and chokes on his own words, because what can he really say? He won’t make excuses, he hates making excuses, and he won’t explain himself. He traces the rim of the glass with his finger, nervous and thoughtfully silent for a few moments. Klaus doesn't interrupt him, though the room on the other side grew quiet, attentive. He is listening, so Five tries again.

It was the only way to get back, he thinks to say, but the argument sounds weak now. ‘There is always a choice’, Luther once said, and while he had not followed his own advice, he was right in his sentiment. There is always a choice, but Five could not live another decade in the devastated shell of a world. There was a choice, but it was not equal.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said, though he doesn’t exactly know what for. Regret was a familiar feeling, as familiar as the warmth the liquor brings him. But he can’t stop it at that, so he continues, intended to power through his own discomfort. Five doesn’t want to be alone again.

“I’m sorry I left,” he says first, because if they are going to be having this conversation, he might as well go all the way because he won’t be saying any of this again. Especially without assistance of the alcohol.

“I’m buried you, you know,” Five says and there’s something in his voice akin to morbid humor, dark and smiling yet devoid of delight. He chuckles, and it hurts his throat.

“I buried all of you,” he continues after he finishes the glass, “And then I left you, again, for decades,” Five pours himself another glass, already bringing it to his lips, “I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would never see a living human again,” and the dark undertones of laughter never leave his voice.

On the other side, his ears pick up sound of movement, of soft steps. Pressure against the door shifts as Klaus presses back. Sitting down against the door, Five realizes, in reflection of his older brother. He wonders if the ghost seep through the door, like gasoline drop spreading like bleeding rainbow through the water. Or do they stay on his side, because they are only haunting him, they are here for Five.

He wonders, and then he takes another swing of the glass, finishing it. He pours another one.

“And then, she came and I saw an opportunity,” he continues, eyes drilling the wall on the opposite side of the door, thinking of the Handler in her black mourning outfit, dressed for the funeral of the world. He thinks of the bullet he put in her forehead. Is she haunting him, too? 

“And I didn’t care, Klaus, I just couldn’t care about them,” he says, and his voice shakes with nerves or bubbling laughter, he can’t tell. He can’t tell anymore.

“I just wanted to come back, to see my family again, to save you. It was horrible, Klaus, the rubble, the ash. The ash never stopped falling. I haven’t seen the sky for nearly three decades,” and now he chuckles, humorless, thinking back on the endless swirls of grey, red and black that the world was colored in.

“I was good at it,” he continues, quiet now, “I am good at it, the best” Five leans his head stronger against the door, wood digging into his scalp as he stares at the off-ceiling, covered in cracks.

“But I missed you,” and that was hard to say, hard enough that Five almost chokes, “And I couldn’t let you die, I couldn’t bury you again, wouldn’t” his voice is trembling now, so do his hands, but he bites down the anxiety, the fear, all of it, but doesn’t bite his tongue.

He downs the glass again, tipsy now and warm enough to burn, drunk enough to feel the shame that he pushed away for so long. He couldn’t afford shame when he needed to survive. It used to be kill or be killed, but now he has to live. Five has no fucking clue how to do that.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, but now the words feel porcelain on his tongue, weak yet more true. He can’t breach the topic of the ghost, the dead that no doubt now follow him, even though that was the main issue at hand that pushed him towards initiating this conversation. He feels stupid, and weak, and he is not supposed to be either of those things. 

“Hey, Five,” he hears Klaus say suddenly, younger brother’s already quiet voice dulled through the door. It was unusual for him to be anything but loud, but this is an unusual situation, “Could you, um, move? Please,” Klaus says, and Five’s heart drops again.

Right, he should leave. His ghosts - his victims, - were probably bothering Klaus all this time, and Five was wasting time whining. Right. He should leave.

So he stands, his legs unusually unsteady. This body lost his previous build-up tolerance to alcohol and just a few glasses have his vision swimming at the dges. Five hates it. He hates this.

Just as he takes a small step away from the door, it opens with a small click, catching Five off-guard. He turns around, ignoring the way his body feels like an on fire garbage can. Klaus is standing in front if him, eyes to the side, yet determined.

“Hey,” Klaus says.

“Hey,” Five repeats.

They stand there, for a moment or two, and Five has no fucking clue where this is going. His hands grip the bottleneck and the edge of the glass harder, white knuckled, hurt.

Klaus looks hurt, too. This family can never stop hurting each other, it seems.

And then there arms around his shoulders and Five is tugged into a tight, bone-crushing hug. It’s almost as terrifying as the end of the world.

So Five hugs back, reluctant and unsure, the bottle and the glass cluttering to the ground, because these are not his hands but it is his brother. And maybe the dead will never leave, and sometimes the ash will cloud his vision, and he will bite and fight and they will bicker.

But Klaus won’t go away. The dead will stay, but Klaus won’t go.

So he hugs him tighter, and buries his face in the feathery exterior of the coat, and they stay quiet. 

For once, his thoughts do too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback! I love Five, I love Umbrella Academy and I love your comments! I will try to write more on UA and mostly Five, though not in this story. I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I did writing it!  
> Tittle and chapter titles are, of course, from This is How I Disappear by My Chemical Romance.


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